aside from the people, it’s the noises of africa i miss the most. the buzzing of big bugs traipsing somewhere in the bright foliage. motorbike horns honking in friendly discussion. badly recorded music blasting through maxed speakers on the side of the red dusty road, the blurred bass like a neverending tribal chant. the clucking of stray chickens. the bang of sparking metal while the village blacksmith welds a new blade for slashing brush. and the children, with their precious giggles.

i can hear it all in the silence of my condo, these happy sounds that somehow put an ache in my heart. i can’t explain it, and i’ve been fighting against my sense that tells me to write about it (obviously – more than a month later). because no one can recreate africa on paper, and to be honest, most people who haven’t been there don’t care to hear about it. i know i didn’t. as it turns out, ignorance doesn’t serve any favors. instead, i have found that facing into honesty brings not a fearful truth, but a glowing, unmistakable worthwhile truth.

maybe my story, my experience, written in my words, can be unique. because i wasn’t there to accomplish a huge feat. i didn’t teach english or befriend orphans, or convert nonbelievers or solve AIDS or world hunger. i was there to watch and observe, and partake and digest. little was asked of me and little was expected. for those that travel to third world countries, i see now it’s much more about what you do upon returning home than how you live while there.

one of the first attempts i made at processing my eight days in liberia was by email. it was to brother joe, a servant of god and liberian man who spent the week with us. he was skinny with very black skin, the same color as the rubber being extracted from trees nearby. he had lost his wife and i believe daughter in the country’s last civil war ending in 2003. but it took time for him to volunteer that personal information, and when he did i couldn’t understand where his continued enthusiasm came from. in my mind he is quite literally a light on a hill. he had healed from ultimate, deep and emotional hardship, and it could only be attributed to God. he knew that. no one is restored to wholeness like that but through Him alone. it was a resurrection of sorts.

my email was in response to his, as he checked on bryan and me to ensure safe travels home. i don’t know that i’ve ever cried over an email for as long as i did, wanting to write forever about the injustices and the muddled confusion and gratitude i felt for being welcomed to such a desperate place that saw few travelers like me. an excerpt:

over the past couple of weeks i have been thinking a lot about you and the many people we met, especially before going to sleep at night. we’ve looked through our photos and watched our videos, and still it is not the same as being in your presence. the moments spent in your country were like nothing we had before known. we saw an overwhelming need nearly everywhere we looked, and yet we were greeted so warmly and taken in as though we are family.

in america, there is a strange conundrum we see almost every day – there is a great deal of wealth, yet a great deal of unhappiness. in comparison, the opposite is true for liberia. there may be little wealth, but there is great JOY and happiness, and strength. there are many people in our country that won’t ever have the privilege to meet such gracious, faithful, God-and-man-serving people as you – the liberian people. i am so grateful that God brought us together and continues to teach us after our paths crossed. i do believe I left a piece of my heart in liberia. my concern and prayers and laughter are all there with you.